


if you want it, you can have it

by iPhone



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Piano, Romance, Sex, there's like...plot, they have sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 14:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14262750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPhone/pseuds/iPhone
Summary: Beca and Chloe go back to Seattle to visit Beca’s old childhood home. Chloe finds out that Beca can play the piano really well.





	if you want it, you can have it

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on tumblr @isthemusictoblame with Instagram/Social Media visuals for their trip.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ps. i'm working on she is the flint, i promise

“Mom?” Beca’s voice echoes in the foyer. She hears Chloe quietly click the door shut and feels her footsteps behind her. “She did say she was going to be at a friend’s place today helping with some get-together.” Shrugging, she turns to help Chloe with the bags. “I’ll put these in my room,” she says.

Chloe nods absentmindedly, taking in the photos lining the walls. She grins at the sight of Beca as a toddler, posing and grinning cheekily at the camera while wearing the frilliest bathing suit. It’s possibly the most adorable thing she’s ever seen.

Upstairs, Beca takes stock of her room, mostly untouched by her mother over the years. She has tried convincing her mother to turn it into something more useful, like another guest room, but her mother is adamant about preserving this specific point of Beca’s life even though she’s almost a decade past this stage. Seattle will always be home, but lately she’s been thinking about how comfortable she feels in L.A. and how much she’s looking forward to making a home of her own with the one person that matters most.

She eyes the fading posters – various band and concert posters – and the sketches from when she had an art phase in high school. There’s something ethereal about her room, from the double bed – she’ll have to thank her mother for changing her sheets often enough – to the tiny desk where she used to spend hours mixing music that she never thought people would hear.

It reminds her of how there’s a very willing audience member, the person who has always valued her contributions – musical and otherwise – and who loves her through the chaos that has become her life since the fame she never expected.

Chloe’s carefully snapping photos of her favourite photos of baby Beca and grouchy teenage Beca when she hears the sound of Beca’s door closing upstairs. She hears Beca rushing back down the stairs, hair just the slightest bit out of place. She smiles, nudging her shoes to the side just as Beca eagerly grabs her hands and pulls her further into the house.

There’s a very specific warmth that Chloe attributes to the way Beca just lights up at the sight of old photos and the atmosphere of what Chloe knows to be her childhood home.

“I can make you something to eat, if you want. What do you want to do?”

Chloe shrugs, not really caring either way. She follows Beca into the kitchen and hops up on the counter. “I could go for water. We could hold off on food because we’re going out for dinner anyway, right?” Her smile becomes mischievous. “We could do some other things since we’re alone.”

Beca’s eyes dart up from where she’s washing her hands in the sink. “Oh?” she voices, interest colouring her tone. A half-smirk tugs at her lips, making Chloe instinctively clench her hand into a fist on her thigh. “Like what?” she asks, eyes darting to Chloe’s mouth as she nears closer.

Chloe blushes at the way Beca casually nudges her legs apart, moving so she’s standing right in front of Chloe, pressed against her lightly. She looks up, eyes bright and hopeful, of all things. Chloe can’t resist, so she cups the back of Beca’s neck and leans down for a kiss, instantly welcoming Beca’s tongue into her mouth. Beca tastes vaguely of mint and a little bit of the Sprite she had on the plane. It’s intoxicating enough by itself, though Beca’s hand gliding surely up Chloe’s thigh is enough to coax a quiet moan out of her.

“What should we do now?” Beca whispers again against her skin, lips gliding languidly along Chloe’s jaw.

Chloe manages a quick exhale, because obviously, but she wants to see everything about what Beca’s life was like before Barden – before Chloe. “Can I have a tour?”

Beca looks like she’s trying to figure out whether to let disappointment or confusion show on her face. “A tour,” she repeats, her eyes darting back to Chloe’s mouth helplessly. “Fine,” Beca grumbles when Chloe arches a brow.

Chloe just grins at her and leaps down, not giving Beca a chance to say anything else. “Where to first?”

Beca considers the question seriously. “How about my room?” Beca suggests. “There’s really not much to show in this house, I promise. I’ll show you my room and then the basement, I guess.“ She begins leading Chloe out of the kitchen. "There’s a piano down there,” she adds.

Chloe looks at Beca curiously. "A piano? Whose is it?”

Beca eyes her oddly. “Mine,” she admits, though it’s with hesitance.

“I – you can play?” Chloe feels mildly embarrassed even asking the question. Even after years of knowing Beca and just under a year of dating, she still feels like she learns something new about Beca every day. “I mean, I’ve seen your keyboard, the one you use for mixing, but did you…play? Lessons?”

Beca realizes they’re probably not going to start a tour of any kind in her room, so she twists her fingers with Chloe’s and leads her to the basement instead. “Years of lessons,” Beca says. “Dad’s idea.”

The basement is inviting, with a small seating area and comfortable couches. Just off-center, is a piano, standing alone. There are books on top of it, a metronome, and a few pens and pencils, as if the entire scene is just waiting for its owner to return home.

Chloe has loved music all her life – has lived and breathed it, essentially. She has never been particularly well-versed in the piano. She grew up dabbling in the violin because her parents thought it would help shape her character, but she dropped her lessons somewhere around the end of middle school and joined her high school’s choir, glee club, and whatever singing opportunities presented themselves. She reaches out with reverence, holding her breath, even, and traces the cold keys.

It’s an upright piano, nothing too lavish. It has a wooden finish, bronzed wheels, and well-kept keys. Chloe looks up to see a reverent expression on Beca’s face as well, directed at the piano.

Beca steps around the piano, eyes locked on the way Chloe’s fingers trace the keys that she spent so much time labouring over, sometimes even crying over them through the fights her parents would have. It makes her swallow, the duality of seeing her present and past mingling in the midst of everything.

Chloe looks like she doesn’t quite want to pry, so she draws her hand back, holding her wrist with her other hand. She inhales, nodding once, smiling at Beca encouragingly. She can tell that this is something important to Beca, something that defines her very existence, though she knows that prying does little good when it comes to Beca Mitchell.

The light is a little dim in the basement because there’s a bulb that hasn’t yet been replaced. Despite that, Beca can see the eagerness in Chloe’s eyes – the hope. She can’t help it, so she tugs out the bench and sits primly, hands folded in her lap. “What should I play?” Beca asks, offering Chloe the opening she didn’t take.

Chloe sighs. A million songs run through her mind. She settles on “something that you’d play, if you could play anything.”

Beca cracks her knuckles, making Chloe clench her fist again. “I’m going to warn you…I haven’t played in a while, okay? Not like this, anyway. I rarely get time to sit at a piano.”

There’s something about Beca sitting behind the piano, small and demure, that really does something to Chloe. “Take your time,” she rasps.

She expects something classical or formal like Mendelssohn or Mozart, but of course Beca Mitchell wouldn’t bother with that (though she  _could_ if she wanted to).

The beginnings of Adele’s “Someone Like You” ring through the basement, echoing beautifully. Beca plays surely, with flourishes and a small crease between her brows. Chloe’s not sure what to do or where to look. She settles on the way Beca’s fingers fly surely across the keys, not making a single misstep.

And, like magic, Beca transitions beautifully into Coldplay’s “Paradise”, lingering only for the first verse and chorus. Beca would choose a mash-up. She seems to breathe with the music, fingers confident and precise. It makes Chloe’s chest tighten. She barely remembers to snap a photo and haphazardly puts her phone away, too enthralled by the way Beca completely  _commands_  the piano. She leans on its surface, watching with rapt attention.

Beca glances up at her, smiling a little shyly. “You can…” she half shrugs. “Sing, if you want.” She transitions into “Chasing Cars” with finesse and ease.

Chloe doesn’t need to be told twice.

Together, they carry the song home, through the first verse and chorus, just as before. Chloe thinks that Beca is literally glowing, and Beca can probably say the same.

Beca tries to focus on closing out the song because she can feel tension coiling somewhere in her lower abdomen and an increasing pressure on her chest. Chloe moves to stand beside her, body radiating warmth. They gravitate towards each other, no matter what they’re doing. It’s a by-product of how closely they lived their lives prior to their relationship (as well as the mutual pining that took place over the years).

Beca loves the sound of Chloe’s voice like this – soft and reserved only for her. She has always loved it and now has the privilege to suss out the nuances of Chloe’s moods and emotions based on her voice alone. She likes the sound of Chloe’s voice when she attempts to speak upon just waking up, with its very specific rasp that never fails to get Beca going. She likes the sound of Chloe’s voice when she’s telling a story. 

She likes the sound of Chloe’s voice when she’s trying to control herself - like  _now_  - because there’s always just the barest hint of thinly-veiled desperation. Beca clenches her thighs together, feeling the heat of Chloe’s body  _and_  the heat of Chloe’s gaze, which is fixated on her hands on the keys.

It’s making music – not just with their mouths – and Chloe eats it up. She tentatively reaches out to place a hand on Beca’s shoulder. There’s a brief moment as Beca tenses, but she relaxes, even going so far to tilt her head slightly into Chloe’s stomach. This – Beca and music – makes Chloe’s mind buzz with the sheer weight of how beautiful this moment is. It’s incredibly special and makes her wish that she could record this. She focuses on committing this to memory.

Fingers sure as ever, Beca wills herself to focus because Chloe’s breathing has quickened considerably.

Chloe watches the way her girlfriend’s fingers stroke softly over the keys until the song tepers out and finally ends altogether.

Beca clenches her hands this time and settles them on her lap, smiling weakly up at Chloe. “Well?” she asks lightly, standing to face Chloe fully, casual tone masking how weak she really feels under Chloe’s scrutiny.

Chloe’s breath comes out in short bursts, not entirely due to singing. Instead of responding, she tilts her head and pushes her mouth to Beca’s insistently. Beca’s hands fly immediately to her cheeks, holding her in place.

They war for dominance for a moment, piano keys clanging loudly in an ugly cacophony as Beca reaches a hand behind her to steady herself. She props a leg up on the piano bench as best as she can, trying to pull Chloe as close as possible.

With a firm grip on Beca’s thigh, Chloe struggles to contain herself for the moment. She can feel heat emanating from every part of Beca, especially from between her legs. The piano bench is too small and the basement is too sparse for either to serve any real purpose to her at the moment. “Show me your bedroom,” Chloe mumbles between kisses.

She’s thinking primarily about those long, talented fingers playing over her body with the same confidence and sureness.

There’s no room for argument, really.

 

* * *

 

Beca makes quick work of Chloe’s clothes, essentially dumping them all by the door of her bedroom once she kicks it shut with her foot.

“You’re overdressed,” Chloe says immediately, tugging Beca’s sweater over her head and tossing it aside. She notes that Beca’s still wearing clothes and sighs, continuing to undress her girlfriend. “You could help,” Chloe murmurs, tilting her head to the side so Beca can nip at her neck leisurely while she unzips Beca’s jeans. She pushes Beca back, stumbling a bit over the clothes at their feet.

“You were doing such a good job,” Beca replies, tugging Chloe closer. “C’mere,” she mumbles, cupping Chloe’s jaw and tilting her head back towards hers.

Chloe whimpers and lets Beca kiss her again. Her whimper quickly transitions into a moan when she feels Beca’s hand rake down her collarbone to her breast, quickly tightening her hand into a firm grip. It only causes the throbbing between her legs to intensify, causes her to push Beca back onto the bed,  _finally_.

She sinks onto Beca’s lap comfortably once Beca is backed against the headboard of the bed. Beca’s hands rub up her thighs languidly, the memory of seeing those same hands across the piano only turning Chloe on further. She slants her lips over Beca’s, moaning when Beca immediately tugs at her bottom lip before sucking at it slowly 

“Right now,” Chloe mumbles. Beca obliges, gliding a hand between Chloe’s legs, stroking her gently, fingers nudging at a stiff nub. Chloe inhales sharply, moving to rest her forehead against Beca’s shoulders. She shifts her hips impatiently as Beca slides into her slowly, one finger first, then another. “ _God,_ ” she croaks out, lifting her hips and dropping them back down once, experimentally.

Beca’s gaze is dark – darker in the dim light. Chloe tries to take stock of how hungry Beca looks – the kind of hunger that means Chloe’s in for it – the kind of hunger that she saw a spark of downstairs by the piano.

Naked and sitting astride Beca’s lap, Chloe focuses then on the way Beca’s fingers feel inside her, curling slowly. She shifts restlessly, hips rolling experimentally. She whimpers at the sensation and feels Beca’s body shudder as well. Digging her nails into Beca’s shoulders, she tries to remember how Beca had looked, caressing ivory keys with finesse; the way she had moved masterfully.

Her knees dig straight into the slightly stiff mattress. Beca’s hand – the one that’s not currently occupied – comes up to stroke leisurely at her back. Just as Chloe moves her hips again, Beca’s fingers tense and dig right into the middle of her back, holding her close. She leans up, tilting her chin as if asking for a kiss, the delicateness of which makes Chloe’s heart leap straight out of her chest – or at least, attempt to. She slides her lips languidly across Beca’s, taking stock of how soft Beca’s lips always seem to be. Gently, she nips at her girlfriend’s lower lip, tugging as she pulls back. Beca’s mouth parts to accommodate her, and then they’re kissing.

Beca’s fingers move slowly – in, out – as best as they can while Chloe sits on top of her thighs. Chloe moans quietly into her mouth, the sound and vibration making Beca clench her own thighs trying to alleviate some of the pressure between her legs.

“You looked so good,” Chloe says, though she grits her teeth at the end of that sentence, when Beca adds a little more force into her hand’s motions. “The piano,” Chloe says weakly. “At the piano. I-I-“ she stutters, trails off when Beca nips at her jaw, her neck, then finally moving back to her lips to hungrily shove her tongue into her mouth. “I couldn’t help it,” Chloe moans, trying to figure out what to do with her own hands. She tugs at Beca’s hair, pulling at the back of her head.

At that, Beca moans, uncaring – though she’s briefly thankful that nobody’s home or in the vicinity. “Yeah?” she rasps, though it’s less of a question because she vividly recalls the way Chloe’s eyes had darkened nearly instantaneously when she started playing and how she was already on the verge when she had finished playing.

Chloe’s hips move insistently, grinding down hard into Beca’s palm. The sensation of Chloe on her lap as well as the very telling slick warmth slipping down and around her fingers and hand causes Beca’s own chest to tighten and stomach to coil in anticipation.

“Watching you play,” Chloe whispers, eyes fluttering shut, though she desperately forces them open again so she can see Beca’s wide-eyed, lust-filled gaze locked onto her own. “I got so…” she bites her lip, thrilled by the way Beca’s fingers curl into her surely, almost encouragingly. “I got so fucking wet watching you play that piano,” Chloe finishes, breath stuttering. She licks swollen lips, moving to rest her forehead against Beca’s. “Fuck me,” she demands, lips descending for a kiss.

In, out – her fingers slip in and across Chloe insistently – the movement is encouraged by the consistent wetness coating her skin. Coating Chloe’s skin. Beca wonders if Chloe would mind terribly if she opted to use her mouth instead of her fingers, but with the grip Chloe has on her, trapping her in place, she figures she’s going to have to wait.

“Fuck,” she whispers, leaning forward to further mark Chloe’s collarbone with languid nips and open-mouthed kisses.

“Y-you, with that fucking piano,” Chloe pants, using her arm to hook Beca’s head closer to her chest. A loud moan slips through a clenched jaw when Beca’s palm brushes against her just right – “Fuck, right there,” she says stiltedly, back arching.

Beca resists the urge to laugh, though a breathless exhale does escape her. Chloe Beale is probably the only person she’s ever met to get off to music and on music. She kisses up, nipping at the spot on Chloe’s throat – just under her jaw – that she knows drives her girlfriend completely wild. She doesn’t linger, though Chloe’s keening whimper makes her want to stay to draw the same sound out of her again, and again, and again.

She punctuates each thought with a firm thrust, relishing each rock of Chloe’s body; relishing the way skin is sliding smoothly against skin. There’s a desperation in the way Chloe’s pants sound in her ear. She kisses back down, bending slightly so she can bypass Chloe’s neck, the strained tendons in her throat just begging for attention. Instead, she kisses down her chest, taking a stiff nipple in her mouth.

Chloe’s jaw slackens at the feel of Beca’s warm, wet tongue nudging insistently at her nipple. The sensation makes her thighs clench and hips stutter in their rhythm. She slides her hand to cup Beca’s cheek, then her neck. It’s gentle at first, though her fingers clamp down quickly into hair and skin to hold Beca against her chest. “I’m close,” she informs Beca belatedly.

Humming in agreement, Beca throws some teeth into the mix, quickly mouthing around her nipple. It makes Chloe jolt. “You’re closer,” she says, finally lifting her head.

"I’m close whenever I’m with you,” Chloe admits, tilting Beca’s head up as best as she can. Her vision wavers and she slams her eyes shut at the sensation of Beca’s fingers curling right up into her. “I’m close whenever you just look at me or - or talk to me,” Chloe continues with some difficulty, only spurring Beca on further. “Fuck, when you _s-sing_  to me-”

(Her favourite moments are when she reduces Chloe to inarticulate sounds and breathless pants. Less words would be a good sign.)

“Eyes,” Beca says quietly, too enthralled by the way Chloe’s hair messily drapes over her shoulders and down her back - God, she could use some mirrors about now. “Look at me,” she tries again, uncaring that she’s begging. She gets off on seeing the way Chloe’s eyes fucking shine when she’s like this, the way she struggles to keep her eyes open at all. “Fuck, Chlo-” She grits her teeth because the strain is getting to her arm, but Chloe feels so damn good around her fingers that she can’t bring herself to even move from this position. She figures it’s a good enough way to die.

Chloe all but sobs, eyes flying open as she clutches at Beca’s shoulders, hands scrabbling to find purchase somewhere. One hand flies into Beca’s hair, pushing her face against her chest, while the other clenches around Beca’s upper arm, holding her in place. Her body stiffens entirely and she whimpers once, a loud, drawn-out moan following immediately.

Beca clenches her thighs together again, biting her lip to stop the helpless whimper that threatens to escape when she takes in how thoroughly defiled Chloe looks at that moment: high flush, hair in complete disarray, swollen lips, and arched back. The deep-seated arousal in Chloe’s eyes only serve to spur Beca on again. She lifts her hand from between Chloe’s legs to slide up to her hip, coaxing Chloe to roll her hips once – twice – against Beca, both women moaning quietly at the sensation.

“I love you,” Beca murmurs, tilting her head to kiss Chloe’s jaw, then her lips. “Fuck,” she murmurs, nipping at Chloe’s bottom lip. “I need you.”

Chloe bites her lip, a soft noise escaping her when Beca parts her own thighs willingly for her. “I love you, too,” she replies. She flexes her fingers around Beca’s thighs before she slides back up Beca’s body, peppering kisses along the way, making sure to pay close attention to pert nipples. She’s desperate to hear Beca’s voice again – to hear the sounds that only she can coax out of Beca with her own brand of expertise.

“Please,” Beca begs quietly. “Chlo, now.” She looks up, eyes locked hazily on the ceiling fan, and wonders vaguely if teenage Beca would have ever thought this would happen.

(She knows the logistics are off: she never knew Chloe back then, but this is so akin to losing it to the most popular girl in school that Beca thinks that she’s probably experiencing something super religious right now.)

Beca almost comes undone immediately the moment Chloe’s fingers slide inside her. It makes her head thump uncomfortably against her wall, and she curses, partly from the sheer pleasure and partly from the slight pain. Chloe removes her fingers, gently tugs Beca into a prone position. She returns to fully hovering over Beca, strands of hair tickling the sides of Beca’s face. She pants out a breath, about to ask Chloe why she stopped, when Chloe’s fingers mercifully slide back inside her, slow, sure strokes causing Beca’s breath to catch.

Chloe is deliberate and careful. Her body thrums with arousal and the vestiges of desire coursing through her, but she carefully thumbs it down, only slightly stoking the embers with each passing moment.

She relishes the feeling of Beca already beginning to come undone around her – hot, wet, and sticky. It makes her already sensitive core just  _throb_  in response and she can’t help the whimper that escapes her. She leans down to press a sloppy kiss against Beca’s lips, swallowing the loud moan Beca releases at that moment. Beca’s hand comes to grab at her hair while the other hand rakes down her back roughly and quickly. It makes Chloe thrust a bit harder, eyes rolling back behind her eyelids at the slight sting of Beca’s dual assault on her hair and skin.

“Fuck,” Beca mumbles, swollen lips brushing against Chloe’s. Chloe’s fingers curl just right, with a twist of her wrist. It makes Beca’s eyes fly wide open until she’s gasping and panting out Chloe’s name, intermingled with the occasional curse. She grips Chloe’s hair tighter, pulling until Chloe’s forehead comes to rest against hers.  Arousal courses through her entire body, more than she’s ever felt before. It’s almost too much, but Beca welcomes it – has always welcomed these experiences with Chloe because she can’t imagine this happening with anybody else.

Chloe thinks that Beca looks beautiful, flushed, a little sweaty, and eyes bright with the height of her arousal. She pants out a breath across Beca’s cheek, using her nose to nudge at Beca’s chin and jaw until she can nip and suck at that one specific spot on Beca’s neck that drives her crazy. All she can feel is the way Beca’s thighs cradle her hips, the way Beca just fucking clenches around her fingers, and all that wonderful, delicious wet heat against her hand.

“I love you,” Chloe repeats, moving her head back up so she can kiss Beca. “God, I fucking love you like this,” she mumbles.

Beca lets her head fall back on the bed, just shy of her pillow. She doesn’t care about the uncomfortable arch in her neck because all that matters is that Chloe continues fucking her like this. She had been close when she had been inside Chloe. She’s on the verge of exploding, now.

Chloe is conscious of how aroused she is, still, with the way Beca’s thigh rubs against her center with each rock of her hips. She stifles her moan into Beca’s neck, trying to focus on how close Beca is to her own release.

She stills at Beca’s tell-tale whine - the one that rips from Beca’s throat nd sends jolts of pleasure straight through Chloe upon hearing it - and watches  Beca with wide eyes as she comes undone, finally.

The thick air around them blankets over their quiet pants. Chloe moves off Beca, just to her side, and blinks, wondering absently if she can get a recording of Beca playing the piano.

Beca is thinking about whether she can afford to buy a baby grand for her apartment in Los Angeles and  _why_ she didn’t think about buying one ages ago.

“So…this is your bedroom, huh?” Chloe asks, once they both catch their breath. Kind of.

Beca laughs, unreserved and completely free, albeit a little breathless. It’s so completely Chloe – Chloe who has likely never mastered the art of pillow talk because she doesn’t bother pretending to be something she’s not, if she doesn’t feel like it.

She should have suggested they visited Seattle sooner.


End file.
